"Max still isn't sleeping through the night," I complained at our third meeting. "He can barely do three hours straight." I continued to whine to these people because my mother stopped taking my 8 am call. "I am downing Red Bull with my cereal just to get thru the morning," I continued to confide.
The group's moderator, a woman in her early sixties whose accrediation to run this group was merely having kids of her own, offered her opinion: "Well Max is the second youngest one here." She pointed to the white board behind her which listed the babies and mommies names along with the birthdate of the baby. "He's only 9 weeks so the best you should really hope for at this point is a few hours. He just needs to be a little older." I frowned and looked down at my sleeping baby boy who much like his mom through the majority of college, thought 2 am was for partying and 2pm was for sleeping.
"Ayla is only 2 days older and she sleeps 10 hrs," a fat biatch chimed in from across the circle. I looked over at her and her daughter and stared at them wide-eyed. "So? What's your point?" Are you trying to say that my son is slow? Or are you bragging that your daughter is greatly talented?" This was the same girl who 3 weeks earlier announced that her 6 week old baby "loves music and really has a passion for classical music". How preytell does she know this? I can barely figure out when my son has taken a dump in his pants let alone pretend to predict that he will enjoy a fine double malt after a night at the symphony, according to this Mommy Ayla was mere inches away from composing the next concerto.
